


My Padawan

by Firondoiel



Series: Recovery [10]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Chronic Pain, Depression, Gen, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Medical, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Worried Qui-Gon Jinn, Written for the QuiObi Writing Discord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27682316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firondoiel/pseuds/Firondoiel
Summary: Obi-Wan has a rare moment alone to reflect.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Recovery [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862353
Comments: 43
Kudos: 178





	My Padawan

**Author's Note:**

> The Recovery series is a collaborative effort by LuvEwan, happygiraffe, sanerontheinside, and me.
> 
> We are taking a short break and will resume posting after the holidays. It has been uplifting and wonderful to read your comments. You keep us going. Everyone stay safe and see you in the new year!

Obi-Wan sat blinking in the sunlight that streamed through the window into his small room. A garden rested a few levels down, but the late afternoon glare made it difficult to see. Not that it mattered much. Obi-Wan was lost in his thoughts, eyes glazed over. Being left alone while not in bed was a first. The peace should have been welcome. He had been given little privacy over the last several months, and it weighed on him. He didn’t require much solitude, but he hadn’t yet had the chance to meditate or process anything. 

Qui-Gon was currently meeting with Anakin. The boy had started remedial classes and made some friends in the créche, but he was beginning to need more of Qui-Gon’s time. He hadn’t officially been taken as Qui-Gon’s padawan yet, but Obi-Wan knew that his master very much intended to be the one who trained him. The Council’s refusal to see Anakin’s importance still rankled Qui-Gon. He told Obi-Wan that he couldn’t entrust anyone else with Anakin’s training. 

Obi-Wan absently took his padawan braid in his hand, playing with the hair at the end. He had let go of any resentment he might have had on the transport to Naboo. His apology to Qui-Gon had been sincere. His master’s confidence in his ability to pass the trials warmed him at the time, despite any sting of abandonment. They both knew that their bond was much stronger than was advisable, bordering on attachment, even though they never discussed it. Perhaps Qui-Gon’s actions had been his first trial, testing how he reacted to a sudden end to their relationship.

But he would not be facing the trials now. Obi-Wan shivered and wished he had requested a blanket before the healer had left him here. He could get it himself. The hoverchair was new, but easy enough to use. He couldn’t sit in it for very long before his weakened muscles protested. Without the brace around his middle, he wouldn’t be able to sit at all. He looked at the controls, but made no move to touch them. After a moment, he wearily turned back to the window and the sunlight that should be warming him. Instead he felt cold and sluggish.

They had him see a mind healer at least once a week. Master Nahen was kind enough, and Obi-Wan tried to talk to him. He really did. But how could he explain that he struggled because he was prepared to die, not to live? Definitely not to live as a broken and feeble shadow of his former self. 

If he had let things play out as they were written in the Force, he would now be the first Jedi to kill a Sith in over a hundred years. Newly knighted and training the Anakin. All while mourning a loss that cut just as brutally as the Zabrak’s blade. A loss that he would forever know that he could have prevented. The guilt and grief would wear away at him, making him feel hollowed out yet unbearably heavy at the same time. 

The vision hadn’t shown him much beyond Naboo, but Obi-Wan could sense that only more heartache and sadness lines that path. He could have born it, knowing that he served the Order and had a purpose. That he was of some use at least. He didn’t know how to bear life as little more than an invalid. 

Obi-Wan released a breath and glanced down at his feet. He remembered the hope that a simple toe twitch had given him all those weeks ago. Maybe he had been foolish to see it as the real start of recovery. Some days he could feel his legs and manage a few simple exercises in physical therapy, but too often they would fall numb with no warning. Luminara gently reminded him that healing and progress were not linear. It did not comfort him.

She wasn’t the only one who picked up on the seeds of despair that were growing in Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon could not hide his concern. Then again, his master had so many things to cause him worry that it was little wonder his shielding could be thin at times. 

Master Nahen recommended antidepressants. Obi-Wan hadn’t refused, but he also had left the bottle unopened and shut up in a drawer. Qui-Gon had found it and carefully asked if Obi-Wan would like to add them to the pill collection designated for after-breakfast doses. He didn’t press when Obi-Wan shook his head and said something about them only being there in case things got to where he needed them. Qui-Gon hadn’t fully believed him, but the bottle still sat unopened in the bedside table. 

Today, his legs had failed in the middle of his therapy session. He had been struggling with the exercises anyway, so he told himself it was fine. The numbness was almost as much a relief as it was a frustration. 

It’s why he had these few minutes alone now. The healer on duty checked him over thoroughly before agreeing to let him stay in the chair a bit longer. Qui-Gon likely didn’t expect therapy to finish early since the morning had been promising. Little pain and almost full sensation in his legs. He always wanted to be present at the end of each therapy session to hear updates on Obi-Wan’s progress. The healers offered to comm him, but Obi-Wan declined. Anakin shouldn’t have his training cut short. 

Qui-Gon had started teaching the boy some beginner katas, as Anakin had ecstatically told Obi-Wan a few days ago. He came to visit on Obi-Wan’s better days. He was a little shy at first, but he had been anxious to see Obi-Wan. The image of Obi-Wan’s pale and lifeless form had stuck with him, but Obi-Wan hadn’t expected Anakin to return. While he appreciated the concern, he didn’t have the energy that day to actively engage with him much, but Anakin had asked to visit again the following week. 

After a time, Obi-Wan began to look forward to Anakin coming by. He discovered that the boy possessed deep and genuine kindness as well as compassion. The suffering of others obviously troubled him greatly, but he still came in smiling and, as of late, bursting with stories to tell Obi-Wan about _everything_ that had happened in his life since the last visit. 

He deserved Qui-Gon’s undivided attention. Obi-Wan felt guilty over how much he distracted Qui-Gon. His master had this bright, inquisitive boy who was so eager to learn, the Chosen One. But Qui-Gon instead spent most of his time comforting and worrying over a former padawan that would be unable to continue his legacy. 

Obi-Wan wrapped the braid around his fingers. He hadn’t thought of himself as Qui-Gon’s _former_ padawan until now, but it was true, wasn’t it? The healers would probably start mentioning the transition to assisted living in a few weeks. He should ask them about it tomorrow to get things moving faster. They were still concerned over many things: his difficulty breathing, the agonizing pain that would randomly overtake him, his lack of appetite, his embarrassing inability to use the fresher on his own. The list seemed endless. 

But Qui-Gon needed to be set free. He would be relieved that Obi-Wan was stable enough to be moved. There was no reason to follow Obi-Wan to assisted living. His final stop. He would wither away there, eventually forgotten. Fully dependent on the Temple’s resources to care for him instead of being an asset to them. How he dreaded it. 

Unbidden, something dark rushed through him, freezing him with its iciness and then suddenly raging hot. He reflexively tugged at his braid, the sharp pain reminding him of its existence. His lungs compressed and only allowed short, gasping breaths, but Obi-Wan’s focus was on the braid, everything else faded to grey around him. 

Why did he still wear this braid? Why did Qui-Gon still carefully replait it after bathing? He had to realize that Obi-Wan would not be recovering enough to attempt the trials. 

Pain broke through him, but he didn’t have the breath to cry out. His wound throbbed, and he nearly toppled to the floor, just managing to catch himself on the armrest as he lurched forward. He should press his panic button, but something else caught his eye. 

Qui-Gon’s beard trimmer sat on the window sill along with other personal items. Without thinking, Obi-Wan snatched it up and brought it to the side of his head. After 13 years of growing his padawan braid, it barely took 3 seconds to sever it. 

His lungs immediately released, but he still struggled for breath as his heart pounded. The pain also eased, allowing him to realize that his head felt strangely weightless. He looked down at the braid clutched in his hand, passing his eyes over the beads interwoven with the hair. Each one represented a different accomplishment. A different memory. The pride they once brought cruelly mocked him now, laughing at his dreams of being a knight worthy to serve the Order. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks as he flung the braid towards the bin in the corner. 

He slumped back in the chair, gasping and swiping a hand across his face. 

The dark feeling inside him vanished. Maybe it was bitterness or anger. He wasn’t quite sure. In its stead, the surety that his choice on Naboo was right returned. Even now that he lived with the outcome, Obi-Wan knew he would change nothing. 

Qui-Gon’s Force signature sparked across his senses seconds before the door opened. He stiffened and fixed his gaze on the window in front of him, even though he knew that he couldn’t hide the right side of his head from his master for long. Fortunately, Qui-Gon didn’t come around into his view just yet, staying behind him to remove his robe and drape it over his cot. When he asked questions about therapy, Obi-Wan tried to answer normally, masking the emotions that started churning again with Qui-Gon’s presence. 

Of course strengthening his shields caused exactly what he didn’t want. Qui-Gon’s concern spiked when he felt Obi-Wan purposefully hiding something from him, and he quickly came to his side, assuming that Obi-Wan had overtired himself. 

Obi-Wan remained frozen and staunchly refused to turn his head, but he still knew the moment Qui-Gon saw it. His master was asking him if he wished to be moved back to the bed when his voice abruptly stopped. The hand he extended to check Obi-Wan’s temperature paused in midair, so close that Obi-Wan could almost feel its touch against his cheek. He used the silence to prepare himself for the questions that were coming.

But Qui-Gon said nothing. His hand finished its path to Obi-Wan’s forehead, feeling the skin that was slightly too warm. 

Surprise made Obi-Wan look upward, and his breath caught. Qui-Gon looked back at him with tenderness and understanding in his eyes, exuding comfort and calmness into the Force for Obi-Wan’s sake. There was none of the expected disappointment, but a small trace of sadness slipped through Qui-Gon’s shields and twisted around Obi-Wan’s heart. He tried to form a worthy apology, but nothing came to him. Nothing that could begin to make it right. 

Qui-Gon’s hand moved to Obi-Wan’s temple, and then his fingertips reverently brushed over the shorn, uneven hairs that were the only remnants of the braid. He cupped Obi-Wan’s cheek and bent down to kiss his forehead. 

“Oh, my padawan,” he whispered.

Obi-Wan shut his eyes, sagging against the steady strength of his master. His exhaustion made him hardly notice Qui-Gon lifting him from the chair and easing him down onto the bed. The covers were carefully tucked around him, and he felt lips touch his forehead once more before sleep took him.

When he woke, Qui-Gon sat by him in the chair studying a datapad. He hadn’t left. Relief overcame Obi-Wan for a moment, but then remorse took its place. He had been a fool. Physical trials were not the only path to knighthood. He knew this. How could he forget? He surely could manage a thesis, even with his memory issues. 

But not as quickly as needed in order for Anakin to be taken on as a padawan. Maybe he had robbed Qui-Gon of the moment where he would cut Obi-Wan’s braid, symbolizing his triumph as a master, but he had done the right thing. Again. 

Still, his eyes strayed to the bin in the corner. It was empty. The contents likely already tossed down a garbage chute. He swallowed back against the regret rising in his throat and closed his eyes, hoping to forget everything in sleep for a while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for their support and kind words about this series so far. Your kudos and comments always bring joy to my day. ❤️
> 
> We are taking a short break and will resume posting after the holidays. It has been uplifting and wonderful to read your comments. You keep us going. Everyone stay safe and see you in the new year!


End file.
